Bert and Ernie
Bert and Ernie are two Muppets who appear together in numerous skits on the popular U.S. children's television show Sesame Street. Originated by Frank Oz and Jim Henson, the characters are currently performed by Muppeteers Eric Jacobson and Billy Barkhurst, with Oz performing Bert occasionally since 2000. According to DanLuVisiArt, one of the famous DeviantART users, imagined Bert as a martinet who left his little brother behind for the Vietnam war. Over the years, Ernie started to turn into a junkie without his brother's guidance, falling into the wrong crowd and dealing/using with the wrong people--thus making some very bad mistakes. Until Bert returned, leaving one war, only to fight another for his brother. DanLuVisiArt also described Ernie as a "psycho."http://danluvisiart.deviantart.com/art/Bert-and-Ernie-My-Brother-s-Keeper-370442762 They will appear in MYCUN Forever in their DanLuVisiArt styles. DanLuVisiArt's Popped Culture Chapter I: A Long Way From Home The blast was louder than Ernest had expected, however the blow-back affected him even more. The heavy gun weighted down his tiny orange hands, but he firmly gripped the cannon, amidst the nervous twitch. Ernest stood before his first victim, a day he'd never imagined to had happen. He was always unsure what he wanted to be in life, but a killer was never an option. “What the hell, Ernest?!” yelled Bert, as he grabbed the pistol from his still shell-shocked brother. “He was going to kill you, Bert...” Ernest said, his wet eyes still glued onto the victim. “I was trying to protect you, Bert.” Bert shook his head, placing his pistol back into the holster. Bert made his way to the couch, removing the trash from it and proceeding to tear off the crumb-ridden sheets. “You made this mess, so now you're going to clean it up.” “I don't think any bath can clean this mess, Bert.” Ernest muttered under his breath, an old brotherly joke, now sadly forgotten and replaced with despair. “Well figure it the hell out.” Bert said, throwing the sheets at his brother. Ernest grabbed the sheets and made his way over to the fallen body. He looked down at his victim, staring into the eyes of yet another killer, one far more veteran than himself. His mind began to skip, until Bert slapped him in the head, knocking sense back into his tiny body. “Ernest! Get it together. Clean this up while I figure out what to do now.” Ernest leaned down, trying to lift the heavy body and place him in the sheets. The blood leaked from the wound, which was located between the victim's right eye and cheek. Ernest watched as it continued to pump a thick, dark red stream over the neon-lit carpet. “What are we going to do, Bert?” Ernest asked, nervously pushing his greased-black hair aside. “We gotta figure out an alibi for The Bird. He's gonna wonder why this guy disappeared and when he finds out that we did it? You and I are gone. For good.” Bert exhaled. I was only trying to help, the frantic Ernest yelled in his mind. All those years he had grown next to Bert, wanting to follow in his footsteps—wanting to impress his older brother—only for this to happen? But that was the very problem, Ernest had difficulties even finding the footsteps to begin with. He was never a leader, only a follower, needing a hand to guide him through challenges most would figure out on their own through simply... ...Growing up. Ernest thought, something he had heard once too many times before. Bert tried to conjure a plan in the meantime, but his past kept coming back to haunt him. Over the years, friends and family told Bert behind his brother's back to move on. Leave the kid, and focus on your life. You have goals, he doesn't, they would say. Become something and lead by example they would remind him. Bert never left Ernest's side though, continuously putting his life on hold to help Ernest further his own. Because that was the promise Bert made to Ernest before he left. He gave his word that he would never leave his side, and that he would always be his protector. But now, once again, Bert was forced to figure out a way to solve yet another one of his brother's foils. Bert grabbed Ernest's shoulder, knowing and understanding what he must be going through. “It's a lot to take in. I've been there, many times, in your exact spot. The gun feels heavy, but you almost enjoy it.” Bert sayid, as Ernest looks up at him. “You then one day require it.” he finishes. “Are...are we in trouble Bert?” he asked in his tiny, innocent voice—his hands still shaking. The body below them began to twitch, a second breath of life entering his lungs. Bert and Ernest watched as he struggled to rise, the gurgles slowly weeping from his mouth as his large eyes darted around the room. Bert retrieved his .45 Caliber back from his holster, and aimed it at the victim's forehead. Bert sighed. “Yes, we're in trouble, Ernest," pulling the trigger and landing a .45 caliber round into the head of The Cook, one of The Street's most notorious Cookie Dealers. A decision that would soon assure them both a home six feet under. “Big trouble.” Chapter 2 15 YEARS AGO... Ernest pushed his tiny feet off the golden sand, letting the swing lift him into the air. Bert watched as Ernest steadily picked up pace, waving back and forth on the swing-set. He smiled, once remembering the innocence of being a child and the lack of responsibilities. But ever since their parents had passed, Bert and Ernest had been forced to grow up far too quickly. Once having a home in The Suburbs, both brothers were soon after sent to an orphan home due to neither parents having siblings. Ernest and Bert grew weary of the move, hearing only bad things of The Streets, their new residence. Bert, however, would take it upon himself of assuring Ernest an honest way of living, teaching by example on how you can still be an upstanding citizen, regardless of where one lived. Bert smiled, waving to Ernest. “Hey buddy. Having fun?” Ernest's eyes darted around, the smile permanently glued to his face. He looked back up, his answer now at the ready: “Yes, Bert.” Bert pushed his books aside, a pile nearly as tall as him. All books which would one day lead Bert to becoming a Pigeon Photographer in New York City, just outside The Streets. When not studying, Bert had been working two jobs, while Ernest had been going through elementary school. Bert made his way behind Ernest, lifting him off the seat and placing him on the ground. Ernest shook his head as sand danced off. “Thanks, Bert.” Bert and Ernest made their way to the sandbox, sitting down inside. Ernest scooped up handfuls of sand, letting the grains fall through his hands. “Bert,” Ernest said, looking up at his older brother, who drifted off. “Yes, Ernest?” “Where are Mom and Dad, Bert?” asked Ernest. Bert's eyes widened, shocked by the question—as Ernest had never shown interest in the disappearance, being too young. “Well,” struggled Bert. “You see that slide over there?” Bert said, pointing to the fluorescent orange slide above them. Ernest looked with wide-eyes, pining to go on it, but refraining to hear his answer. “Yeah, Bert?” “A slide is much like life. You start at the top, and you make your way down to your destination. But there are many different slides out there, some fun, some wild, and some even scary.” Bert explained, as Ernest's eyes widened. “However, all slide lead to one destination: the bottom, and that's when the ride has to come to an end.” “Mom and Dad's slide was just too short.” Bert sighed. Ernest nodded, the smile still present. Bert stands, resting his hand on Ernest's shoulder. “”I'll be right back, kid. Gotta pee.” Bert made his way to the bathroom, as Ernest kicked his feet on the edge of the sandbox. Bert made his way to the bathroom, but couldn't help but notice as a black muscle-car pulled up to the playground. His eyes locked with the driver, who stared back aggressively. Meanwhile, Ernest kicked his feet over the sandbox, twiddling his tiny fingers as he hummed a song he knew Bert enjoyed. As he bobbed his head, his large glasses bounced up and down on his large red nose. “Hey, four-eyes, you want any drugs?” grunted a rather aggressive voice. “Talking to you, shrimp.” Ernest slowly turned his head around to notice a six-foot hot-pink biker, clad in leather and jean. His eyes were red, stoned on meth. He had thin pink strands of braided hair, which hung over his eyes and face. In his hand was a plethora of pills, cigarettes, and dime bags. “Are you deaf, you little shit?” Ernest's still smiled, standing up, at a mere 3-foot. He put out his tiny hand to shake. “What's your name, sir? My name's Ern--” The biker grabbed Ernest's hand, and yanked over his backpack, pulling it open and taking three crumbled dollars—given by Bert for lunch. ' Ernest yelled, falling to the floor, smashing his glasses and head-gear. After tearing the backpack open, the biker threw it back at him. “Only three bucks? What can I buy with that?” “You can buy me lunch.” The pink biker stopped, shocked by the voice from behind him. He turned, only to find Ernest's brother, Bert, standing before him. “And who may you be?” asked the biker, grinning from ear to ear at his opponents' small-size. “I'm that shrimp's older and bigger brother,” Bert grunted, as he rushed the biker, slamming his foot into his ankle, snapping it in two. The pink giant dropped to his knees, groaning as he held it with his furry hands. “What the fuck!” Ernest crawled to grab his bag and glasses, the blood dripping from his nose. As he swung around, he watched his older brother, the only family he had left, walk over to the pink bully. Ernest's tears welled in his eyes, but he couldn't help but smile once more. Bert made his way to the bully, lifting him back up. He held him, inches from his face. “We may be new here, but I want you to remember one thing...” Bert said, staring the biker in the eye as he struggled to get away. “...No one fucks with my brother.” Bert reeled his right arm back, before launching it forward, knocking the biker out with a single blow. The body flew through the air, dropping the narcotics and stolen money. Ernest watched as the body slammed into the grass, buckling into himself. Bert grabbed Ernest's hand, taking him away from the downed bully. Even though both were silent, Ernest knew from that day on that his brother would always be there to protect him. And that was a smile that no one could ever erase. To Be Continued... Chapter 3 SEVERAL YEARS LATER... The lands were similar to aged skin, pimpled with yellow and red rocks. Fragraq had been turned into a wasteland after the vicious Fraggles attacked some time ago. The harsh sun rendered the barren environment with a warm blanket of red, but through it, a faint green figure rose. “Before we take this final shot and finish off our operation, let me ask you this. Looking back, after everything we've done, have you grown accustomed to being out here, or do you miss it?” the green amphibian asked, pulling down his binoculars. Bert pulled his rifle down, watching as Kermit scouted for any possible Fragsurgents. “Home?” Bert asked, not having heard the word for some time. He had been assigned with Kermit D., a senior CIA Agent otherwise known by The Frog, for half of Bert's tour. Now being it's fifth year, he was ready to move back. Kermit nodded. “Yeah, home. Do you miss it or do you prefer these rock-ridden death valleys that I like to call Hell?” Kermit smiled, pulling a fresh cigarette out of his wallet. Bert nodded as Kermit offered the last, “No. Save it.” “To answer your question, at times I miss it. I don't really got much ever since my parents passed. No home that I can call my own.” Bert sighed, letting his rifle lie on the sandbags. “There is someone though. Someone back home.” Kermit smiled, lighting the cigarette. It had been years since the frog saw his homelands, and it was beginning to render the frog cynical. But he'd be a fool to show it, let alone to such a veteran as Bert, otherwise known, infamously by the Fraggles, as The Pigeon. “Girl?” he asked, breathing in the warm tobacco. “No,” Bert smirked. “Just my brother, Ernest. He doesn't too well on his own. Kid slacks off, always telling jokes and taking baths, never taking anything too seriously.” Kermit leaned back on his lawn chair, taking puffs of his cig. “I don't have any brothers or sisters, no family that I can recall either. Back where I'm from, in the swamp, I was a bit of a loner. Enjoyed it for a bit until I moved my way out to Hollywood. Dreams of being some big actor one day, stupid stuff that I now laugh about whenever I think about it.” Bert looked over once more. “Actor, huh? You don't show too much range of emotion out here. I assume that comes with the badge?” Kermit peered down at his American Flag button. “They try to remove any sense of humanity from us when they deploy us to the field. But I used to want to be something. I wanted to have my own show, maybe even movies. Had a few friends and we tried put it together, but then these fucking Fraggles decided to declare war, so it all just faded away.” The cigarette began to fade, the ash drifting away. Kermit put it out. “And now I'm here. Sometimes your dreams don't happen, but then another door happens to open, and you're forced to take those responsibilities.” Bert leveled his veteran rifle, peering through the scope he had become far too familiar with. “I know the feeling, doesn't sound too far off from how I am with my brother.” he said, placing the scope to his eye. Kermit noticed he struck a chord. Quick to remedy, Kermit passed a beer. “So, your brother, tell me about him.” “Ernest is my younger brother. Good kid, just doesn't have it all together in his head. I get far more angrier at him than I should, but sometimes I just grow tired of trying to take care of him. He needs to learn how to do things on his own one day.” Bert scanned the field for any possible threats, the cross-hairs looming over possible suspects. Vicious, fast, beasts, made of ash and fire. “Where's he now?” Kermit asked, taking a gulp. “Back in The Streets. When our parent's passed, we were sent around to orphan homes. He wasn't doing too well with the change, used to having everything his way. That's when I woke him up, starting helping him with school and work. Before I got enlisted here, the kid had it all planned out. Job offers at some big comedy-bars. I think he might be onto something, I just hope he keeps it together.” Kermit leans back as he lifts his binoculars, scoping out the Fraggle target, but Bert has been watching him for the past several minutes. “Then I'd say it's time to get you home.” Kermit peers through, watching the Fraggle run across the yellow fields. A blur. “After you.” The thin-crosshairs slowly balance between the target's black eyes, covered with hot pink fur. This would be Bert's 45th confirmed kill while in Fragrock, and it had been a long time coming; every kill bringing him one step closer to returning to the only family he had. However, Bert had no idea of what lied before him. The gunshot shocked Kermit, shaking him to his core. Bert gazed over his sight, watching as the Fraggle's head popped, void of any emotion he once had. He pulled back from the rifle, looking at the smiling Kermit. “It was a pleasure, sir.” Kermit returned the gesture, throwing the beer bottles off the cliff, and folding up his chair. Bert looked once more at Fragraq, an almost beautiful if not stoic scenery. He smiled, packing his rifle away, savoring the idea of finally leaving this godforsaken war, but unknowingly about to be involved into one far, far, worse. Gallery the_streets___chapter_1___by_danluvisiart-d7k7wze.jpg|THE STREETS - Chapter 1 - the_streets___chapter_2___by_danluvisiart-d7kwdjm.jpg|THE STREETS - Chapter 2 - the_streets___chapter_3___by_danluvisiart-d7xlvfk.jpg|THE STREETS - Chapter 3 - Ec3f4820fe08b4a4fab23ff2b29b73fb_original.png References Category:Characters Category:Living Characters Category:Male Characters Category:Groups Category:Humans Category:Heroes Category:Anti-Heroes Category:Protagonists Category:MYCUN Forever Characters Category:Adults Category:Sesame Street characters Category:GreenyToons Universe Crossover Characters